“Then hit him.”
Shaking his head, Aden turned back toward the gaming room. “I dunnae have time to explain, Coll, but he needs to reckon that he beat me, that I cannae come after him again at the table—but that I do mean to come after him.”
Coll put a hand on his shoulder again, stopping him. “I dunnae ken everything ye have in that head of yers, but if ye lose and then threaten his hide ye’re going to have the devil of a time finding a gaming hell anywhere in London that’ll allow ye through its doors.”
Aden shrugged. “I realized that some time ago,bràthair. My lass doesnae like wagering.”
“Now ye’re putting me off the idea of falling in love, after ye and Niall nearly convinced me.” The viscount gave a shudder. “If I find a lass who doesnae approve of brawls or horseback riding, I reckon I’ll walk away.”
“I hope ye get the chance to see that the choice isnae all that difficult, when it comes down to it. Now let’s get back, aye?”
“So ye’re going to sit there for hours and hours, working yer strategy to get close to winning and then lose and make some pointed threats?”
“That’s what I said, ye lummox.”
“And ye being tired and in a foul mood, anyway?”
“Aye. What’s yer damned point?”
“As far as London is concerned, ye’re a fucking Highlands barbarian. Like I said before, yecouldjust hit him.”
Coll brushed past him and on into Boodle’s gaming room. Aden stayed where he was. There were times when his brothers and his father had declared that he was too clever for his own good. He understood that; he liked intricacy and minutiae, and was good at them. His older brother was a fighter; if it came to a choice between solving something with his fists or his words, Coll would choose his fists every time.
Here Aden needed to consider the end result. With the tremendous money advantage Vale had, it would literally take hours of precise, careful play to turn this into an actual fight. And that was unless Vale realized he was being outplayed and Aden wasn’t going to become his cowed dog, and he walked away from the table.
Neither was he entirely at his sharpest, which Vale had known when he sent over his note. And then there was that misleading gambler’s confidence, that voice inside his head that knew he could win it all, win Miranda’s freedom, without any tricks or alternative plans. But he’d made his plan, put all his pieces on the chessboard where they needed to be. He didn’t need to win. He just needed to make a fight of it.
Rolling his shoulders, he walked back into the gaming room. At least a dozen more men, evidently sensing that this wasn’t just a friendly game, had gathered to watch the play. Ignoring them, Aden took his seat.
“Before we continue,” Captain Vale said, his hawk’s eyes assessing, “you owe me one thousand pounds. You were away for five minutes and twelve seconds. I’ll forgive the twelve seconds.”
Aden nodded. “As we agreed, then.” Willing his hands to stay steady, he deducted the amount from the paper in front of him he’d been using to keep score. Twenty-five hundred left, then. And forty-seven thousand five hundred left to go.
“That’s it? No argument?” One eyebrow dipped, giving the captain the quizzical countenance of an owl. “You’re aware, I hope, that I’m about to marry the woman you’ve been pursuing, and in a matter of hours I’m going to own you, MacTaggert.”
“So ye say. I disagree.”
Vale flipped a card back and forth in one hand. “Was she wet for you?” he murmured.
He’d kept his voice below the hearing of the onlookers, because of course he wouldn’t want anyone else to know that the lass he meant to use to buy his propriety had been taken by another man, but Aden heard it. Loud and clear. “Deal the cards.”
“I’ve asked myself, you know,” the captain went on, returning the stray card to the deck and shuffling, “what use I could make of you. Certainly you would be a good inducement to make certain my repayable debts are properly collected. I’m thinking, though, that perhaps having you watch while I fuck her might be truly satisfying.”
Aden tilted his head, briefly wondering if the red he was seeing would be visible to anyone looking him in the eye. “Ye’re trying to rattle me, aye? To make me falter, miss a declaration of cards, drop a few points here? Get ye to extend me the favor of some credit so I can continue play until I’ve lost far more than I can afford?”
Vale shrugged. “I don’t care that you know. You still have to play.”
Nodding to himself, Aden picked up his cards. “Thank ye.”
The captain snorted. “Why, for the devil’s sake, are you thanking me?”
“I was thankinghim.” Aden cocked a thumb in Coll’s direction. Then he coiled his fist and punched Robert Vale squarely in the beak.
Neat uniform and all, the captain went over backward, crashing to the floor. Aden overturned the table, cards, paper, pencils, whisky, and chicken flying as he shoved it out of his way. He landed another blow as Vale tried to roll free of his chair. Insults to himself didn’t trouble him. Insults to Miranda didn’t overly concern him when whispered for effect. No, what made him clench his teethand dive into a tangle of bastard and chair was the idea that this manmeanthis threats. If he could manage it, he would do exactly as he said. To her. To Miranda.
When the captain hooked his leg, Aden made sure to fall elbow-first onto the bastard’s rib cage before he took a quick dig through his pockets. No damned promissory notes, damn it all. That would have made things much simpler. “I’m a damned Highlander,” he snarled, taking a punch to the jaw and lifting Vale by the front of his coat before he slammed the captain down again. “Ye dunnae insult a lass in my presence. Nae that one, ye beaky bastard.”
“I’ll… ruin you, you, MacTaggert,” Vale rasped, scrambling onto his hands and knees and trying to crawl away. “And you will… never set eyes on Miranda Harris again! Do… you hear me?”
